


Two-Step

by zenigashapon



Category: Lupin III
Genre: Blowjobs, Cigarette Sharing, Clothed Sex, Flirting, Handcuffs, M/M, Tuxedos, disguises, first names, multilingual lupin, working together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:26:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24013564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zenigashapon/pseuds/zenigashapon
Summary: Zenigata attends a high society party in pursuit of an imposter pretending to be Lupin.
Relationships: Arsène Lupin III/Zenigata Kouichi
Comments: 22
Kudos: 183





	Two-Step

Zenigata tugs at his cuffs, eyeing himself in the long mirror that runs the length of the hallway. In the next room the party is transitioning from dinner to champagne in a tinkle of glass and a murmur of unfamiliar syllables. Somewhere, a band is discreetly tuning up. He winces. If his French is bad, his dancing is worse. He can probably avoid it, though: in every way except technically, he is on the job.

There had been a jewelry theft in Miami that morning with Lupin's fingerprints all over it. Zenigata, unfortunately, was not in Miami: he was in Frankfurt, where Lupin had been just the day before. Normally the tip would have sent him on his way to Miami too, but he knew that by the time he made it there Lupin would be long gone. Dwelling on that thought in his small, dirty hotel room, he had dabbed at a shaving nick and mourned his fate. Always lagging two steps behind.

Then, on the afternoon news in the hotel bar, there was a report of an announced burglary in Nice, France. Zenigata, seeing the words _Ars_ _è_ _ne Lupin III_ , narrowed his eyes at the screen, unable to follow enough of the German. He asked the bartender to translate. It seemed that there had been three burglaries attributed to Lupin in Nice over the past week.

Lupin's presence in Frankfurt—and now in Miami—had not been widely publicized. That meant the "Lupin" in Nice must be an imposter. He confirmed by finding the date and time of the first burglary online, and sure enough, he had been pursuing Lupin down a rabbit hole of increasingly appalling Frankfurt gay bars at the time. He had finally seen the bastard making call-me gestures as he danced out the door of a cabaret just after three A.M. He had lost him soon after.

Maybe it was fatalism at his chances in Florida. Maybe it was fatalism at the concept of Florida in general. And maybe fake Lupins rankled him almost as much as they did Lupin himself. He called in a day of sick leave, made the short hop from Frankfurt to Nice, and rented himself a tuxedo.

Unlike the Miami job, unannounced to the public but with Lupin's name written all over it, the burglaries in Nice have been missing key elements. The obvious things are there: the announcement, the anticipation, the prize slipped from under security's noses, the flamboyant exit. But there are also elements that don't quite fit. Things other detectives might have missed—but not Detective Inspector Zenigata of the ICPO, who knows Lupin the Third better than nearly anyone else on Earth.

He puffs up a little at the thought. His reflection cooperatively goes from awkwardly bulky to solid and imposing; he even gives himself a confident little wink. This party might not be his element, but a Lupin investigation certainly is.

As he enters the dining hall, a man nearby halts mid-sentence and moves to intercept him. "My God, if it isn't Detective Inspector Zenigata!" he says, in accented Japanese.

Zenigata takes the proffered hand. "Er, yes. That's me."

"Your reputation precedes you," says the man. "I am Gabriel."

Gabriel Viceroy is the owner of this house—and of the prize the fake Lupin intends to steal, an elaborate necklace of Australian opal. He is shorter than Zenigata, trim, with golden hair and an audacious moustache many men might fail to pull off. He gives Zenigata's hand a friendly squeeze, releasing him only to place a hand at the small of his back and guide him toward the conversation he just left. Zenigata tries not to bristle at the close contact. The French are just like that, right? And he shouldn't rock the boat: lacking an invitation, he expected to have to talk his way into this party. But it seems he is already welcome.

"You speak Japanese?" he asks.

"Of course, of course," says Viceroy. As they reach the group, he sweeps Zenigata forward like he is introducing the star of a broadway show, producing a stream of colourful rapid-fire French. From the expressions on its targets' faces, Zenigata strongly suspects he is being talked up. And quite effectively: the ladies ooh and ahh prettily and several men shake his hand or clap him on the back. He grins and nods, already sweaty. He knows he blushes easily. He snags a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, downs it and replaces the empty glass before the tray disappears.

He turns to find Viceroy pressing another glass warmly into his hand, once again standing too close. "Although I am always delighted to host the ICPO's finest, I suspect you are not here simply to enjoy my company. You are anticipating our uninvited guest?"

"Yes!" Finally, familiar territory. He stands up straight. "Mister Viceroy, what is the nature of your security this evening?" Too late he realizes he defaulted to Japanese suffixes instead of a French _Monsieur._ Viceroy only gives him a sparkling smile and takes him by the arm.

He does explain the security detail, but he drags it out for nearly an hour as they drift around from conversation to conversation. Zenigata repeatedly tries to tell him to stop messing around and get to the point, but each time he does, Viceroy responds with a request for an account of some particular Lupin case, which he translates rapidly for the other guests as Zenigata tells it. The fifth or sixth time it happens, Zenigata catches on that all of the stories Viceroy requests—specifically and confidently—are the ones that end with Lupin escaping and Zenigata's pants around his ankles (sometimes metaphorically, one time literally).

After that, Zenigata tries to insist that he doesn't need a chaperone, but every time he nearly escapes Viceroy he is reeled back in. He's convinced the smooth bastard is doing it on purpose. Could he be the imposter? But no, the night wears on and Viceroy simply continues to dazzle his guests, passing champagne glasses into Zenigata's hand like he's dealing cards, sometimes steering him suddenly away from one corner or another but otherwise just working the crowd. He is one of those people with a talent for making you feel like the only other person in the room, and though half of his chortles are definitely _at_ Zenigata, not _with_ , the party starts to feel like a party and not a job. And after all, it's not as if the real Lupin is here.

He makes a final attempt to escape while Viceroy is deep in conversation with an imposing lady who may (from sound of the French) be a Duchess and who certainly (from the sound of the French) wants to eat him alive.

Viceroy catches him by the sleeve. "If you feel neglected, Inspector, you need only say so," he says, in Japanese.

"Well, I uh—it's that—I'm on the job, technically." He is not, technically.

"Oh, certainly, certainly. It's only that meeting you here was such an unexpected delight—" The lady sniffs and moves away. Viceroy, unconcerned, leads Zenigata through an open door and onto a balcony. "—I was rather hoping we could dance, later."

"Dance?" Zenigata stands ramrod straight, clutching the stem of his champagne glass. A moment earlier he thought the night air might clear his head, but the only thing it's doing for him so far is making him aware of how warm his face is.

Viceroy leans back against the balustrade and tilts his head back, looking at Zenigata from under lowered eyelids. He looks sleepy, almost—inviting—and the pose exposes the long line of his throat. "I like your tenacity, Inspector," he says. "It's a rare thing. Cigarette?" He produces a pack and a lighter.

Maybe _that_ will clear his head. Zenigata accepts the cigarette. Viceroy, revealing what seems to be an ongoing compulsion to be difficult, lights his own and then catches Zenigata by the wrist, bringing them close to touch the tips together. Zenigata drags his eyes away from the curve of Viceroy's lips beneath the moustache, only to look straight into his eyes, lit by the glow of the cigarettes. He pulls back quickly, caught, but Viceroy only grins as if he's won a prize. "Just one dance," he says. "That way you can keep an eye on the room. Anyone here could be Lupin in disguise."

 _Or anyone could be disguised as him_.

_Or anyone could be disguised as him disguised as another guest, disguised as—_

Zenigata can't dance. Worse, an invitation from a pretty face always makes him forget that fact. He is on the dance floor with Viceroy's arm around his waist and hand in his before reality sinks in. He can't case the crowd like this, stepping on the other man's feet every third step. He tries to pull away. "S-surely someone else would be better—"

The lights go out. The guests flutter and cry like a coop of doves. The music disintegrates. "How exciting!" Viceroy crows. Zenigata gives him a glare he can't see.

Then a spotlight appears over the bandstand to show a figure in red and yellow, arms raised.

Zenigata barely listens to the grandstanding. If he hadn't been so certain that Lupin was in Miami, this imposter might have fooled him. But no—he is a hair too tall, and the turn of the wrist when he throws his hands out isn't quite right. Like the aftertaste of a cheap vintage.

Viceroy is very calm. "Ah, the man himself."

"That's not him."

"You're sure?"

Zenigata looks down, straight into a pair of speculative eyes. They are still standing nearly chest to chest, Zenigata's hand on Viceroy's shoulder, Viceroy's hand at his waist, their others clasped. "Of course," Zenigata says. "I know Lupin the Third when I see him."

The hand in his tightens. "You do?"

"I do," he repeats, forcefully.

A beat—and the tension melts away. "Well, that changes things."

Viceroy pulls him yet closer, the hand at his waist moving to flatten at the small of his back. The gesture, the closeness, is overly familiar, even more than he's been all evening. Zenigata should break away. But Viceroy's gaze is moving from his eyes to his mouth and back again, his expression settling into an intense satisfaction and the glint of anticipation. Finally he smiles fondly. Too fondly for two men who just met barely an hour ago. Something has shifted. Zenigata will be damned if he knows what, though.

Then Viceroy grins, so brightly it is like the sun has come out, and releases Zenigata only to grab him by the hand like a schoolboy. "Come on! Let's catch this imposter." The lights go out again, the figure bounds off the stage, and they follow.

Upstairs it is dark, a mansion like any other mansion Zenigata has ransacked in pursuit of Lupin. The fake has too much of a head start, though. They lose him after the second corner.

"Hm." Viceroy releases Zenigata and tugs his jacket back into place, barely breathing hard. "Well, we know where he's headed. May as well lay in wait for him. Come."

They pass by several guards, who acknowledge Viceroy with a nod, and come to the master bedroom. The necklace is in a safe behind a large portrait—classic, but not very imaginative. And Zenigata was right: the security is entirely inadequate, or it would be if they were dealing with the real deal. He feels oddly calm without the electric anticipation he normally feels around Lupin. So he follows Viceroy into the bedroom with hardly a second thought, and a moment later finds himself pressed back against the closed door.

Viceroy holds him in place by the lapels. "You're so cool today, Inspector. Makes me want to give you a kiss."

Zenigata has lost the thread.

"I, uh—I— _Monsieur_ ," he says, floundering, hoping the correct French prefix will orient them back to safer ground. "This is highly—"

"You should learn some real French sometime," says Viceroy. "It would sound awfully good if you said something like..." Zenigata cannot understand what follows, but he gets the general idea and his face goes hot.

"I'm—I'm on the job," he manages.

"So am I." Smiling, Viceroy leans forward, nosing into the place where Zenigata's jaw meets his ear and inhaling appreciatively. While Zenigata is trying desperately not to think about how the man smells warmly of almonds, and also trying to remember what that smell reminds him of, he places an open-mouthed kiss on the soft spot below Zenigata's ear and murmurs in French, hot and coaxing. " _Mon d_ _étective_ _obstiné, tu est d_ _é_ _lectable, tu me tent_ _es, tu me fais_ _tourner la tête._ _"_

"I don't..." Viceroy's leg slides between his, pressing closer. He is a few inches shorter, which means his hip presses directly into— " _Ah_."

Viceroy's breath is hot on his neck. "How did you know?"

"What?"

"That it wasn't Lupin up there."

Zenigata struggles to form the words. It doesn't help that one of Viceroy's hands has slipped inside the lapel of his jacket and is skating across his ribs. "He... he was missing the, the... the playfulness. Not just like it's a game but like he wants you to join in with him."

"Mhmm." A slow, deliberate twist of the hip. Zenigata takes a sharp breath. He is rapidly growing hard. "And not good-looking enough, either. The real Lupin is devilishly handsome, everyone knows it."

"Fuck." Zenigata's head thumps against the door. "Drives me insane. I wish I could..."

"You can, you know."

"I have a job to do..."

"Forget about it for a while." A hand slides up the back of the neck and curls in his hair, giving it a sharp tug. "Show me what that single-mindedness can do when it's put to a different use."

And like it's irresistable, like it's gravity, Zenigata's hands finally move, coming up to either side of Viceroy's head. Immobilizing him for a moment so he can look him in the eyes. Zenigata has no idea what he's looking for there, but he's pretty sure he's about to kiss him, and he would like to know why. The pieces just aren't quite coming together.

The man smiles between his hands and turns his cheek into his palm. "Kouichi. Do you know how often I've thought about this?"

A bell is struck, somewhere. "You what? We... we just met."

Viceroy smiles for a moment like it's a joke, but then he reads something in Zenigata's face that makes the smile fall away. He frowns in apparent confusion.

" _Merde_ ," says a third voice.

Zenigata looks over Viceroy's shoulder to see the fake Lupin frozen against the far wall, evidently having made it all the way through the open window without seeing them. _Amateur_.

Viceroy pulls away—Zenigata stifles a noise as he removes his leg—and turns. " _Bon soir,_ " he says, mildly. " _Comment_ _ç_ _a va_?"

Strangely, the imposter seems even more dumbfounded now that he sees Viceroy's face. " _Mais—vous—_ "

Then Viceroy shoulders past Zenigata and strolls toward him, and the pieces come together—or rather, they fall away from Viceroy like bits of a discarded shell. _There_ is the turn of the wrist, the open jacket twitched back to place hands in pockets, the bow-legged walk. " _Moi_?" he says, circling him, and even with the mask still on, he makes the fake look like a faded photocopy, reproduced too many times: the fake has the red jacket, the yellow tie, but the real Lupin blazes like he is the only thing in the room in full colour.

"All this for something so awfully boring as insurance fraud. Really, Monsieur Viceroy." And he does remove the mask, with a flourish.

Zenigata only registers that Lupin was speaking Japanese for his benefit when the fake—Viceroy, apparently—looks between them in alarm. Lupin repeats himself in French. He takes the man's arm in a friendly way, and then with a couple of sudden, sharp tugs, shucks him of the disguise. Viceroy is left looking naked in shirtsleeves. He actually doesn't quite pull the moustache off, Zenigata thinks. Lupin trusses his hands with a length of cord and shoves him toward Zenigata. " _Tenez, pour vous, Inspecteur_ ," he says.

Viceroy quakes between them. Zenigata makes no move to take him. Lupin has a studiously bored look on his face.

"Lupin..." says Zenigata. He has a pair of handcuffs hidden in his jacket—naturally—but he still feels wrong-footed here. Still two steps behind. "I thought you were in Miami."

"Jigen and Goemon are in Miami. And I shall be joining them shortly, now that this—" He gestures to Viceroy. "—is concluded."

Concluded. The cart is sliding away from him down the hill. He wants it back, even though he doesn't exactly know what he wants to do with it. "But you—we were—"

At that moment Viceroy makes a break for the window. Lupin flicks one hand and sends a cord whizzing from his wristwatch to wrap around the man's ankles. Viceroy goes headlong out the window— and Lupin, having apparently acted without thought for the weight of the man, goes skidding toward the windowsill after him. "Pops!" he yelps.

Whatever was paralyzing Zenigata breaks. He barrels across the room, catching Lupin around the waist and hauling him backwards. They collapse in a pile to the floor. The room is once again silent, peaceful, except for the muffled noises of the party downstairs and a faint babble of terrified French drifting through the open window. It seems that the cord caught Viceroy before he hit the ground.

Lupin begins to laugh. It shakes his whole body, his hair tickling Zenigata under the chin, and, helplessly, Zenigata laughs too. Lupin rolls to the side to attach the cord to a leg of the bed and release it from his wristwatch. Thus freed, he rises and begins to dust himself off. "Well, well," he says, breathless. "Pops, give me a ten-second head-start, all right?"

"Er," says Zenigata, from the floor. He can still feel the imprint of Lupin's body on his. The remains of his champagne buzz are fizzing in his ears.

"I suppose I should tell Jigen and Goemon to meet me somewhere other than Miami, now that you know about it. Maybe Rio? It's nice this time of year."

"Lupin," Zenigata starts.

Lupin tugs briskly on his cuffs and looks down at him, framed by the window. "You know, Pops, I'm a little bit hurt you went along with it even though you thought I was Gabriel. You always struck me as a one-man kinda guy."

The next thing Zenigata knows he has pushed Lupin back onto the bed and their faces are inches apart. The buzzing in his ears is overwhelming. Lupin, pliant beneath him, tilts his hips so that they slide together, and he is immediately hard again. He struggles not to close his eyes and simply push into the sensation. He does let out a shaky breath.

Lupin grins like an imp.

He's been had. Provoked. Again.

For once—for _once_ —he wants to be the one to dumbfound Lupin.

So he closes the space between them.

The kiss turns filthy immediately. Lupin licks up into his mouth with unearned authority considering he still lies prone beneath Zenigata with his hands above his head. For a long moment the slide of his tongue is too persuasive to deny and Zenigata responds despite himself, pressing down, tasting champagne in both their mouths.

He doesn't want to have control so much as he wants Lupin to lose it. He breaks the kiss and fists one hand in his hair, immobilizing him. Lupin waits, eyelids low, mouth wet. Without a real plan Zenigata tugs Lupin's head to the side, tilting it for a better angle, and plunges back into his mouth, palming him with his other hand. Lupin moans openly, pushing up into his hand so that he can feel the hard outline of him, and his brain whites out for a moment.

When he returns, Lupin is making small pleased noises into his mouth and trying to find a rhythm against his hand. A moment of outrage: this was exactly what Lupin wanted in the first place. Growling, he breaks away to bury his face in the crook of Lupin's shoulder. Almonds. Of course that's what that smell reminded him of.

"Pops?"

"Can't I ever catch you off-guard?" he mutters. Since his mouth is already at Lupin's neck, he bites him a little in resentment. Lupin's cock jerks in his hand.

" _Ah—_ what the hell are you talking about, old man?" He flips them over, not so much by force as by wriggling, so that he ends up on hands and knees above Zenigata, whose legs hang off the edge of the bed. "You think you can't surprise me? I was certain you were on a plane to Miami until I saw you downstairs. Looking like an _entire_ five-course meal, I'll add." He punctuates this by dragging his palm luxuriously down Zenigata's side.

Zenigata is looking mulishly away.

Lupin sighs. "Don't you get it? I was looking forward to a lonely evening of unmasking yet another unimaginative counterfeit, and then suddenly there _you_ are, and the whole thing is fun again." When Zenigata still fails to respond, he cranes his neck to get in his line of vision. Zenigata turns his face the other way. Lupin follows. They spend a good minute ducking and bobbing around each other. "Hey, hey, hey," Lupin chirps finally, catching Zenigata by the chin. He kisses him on the nose. "Friends?"

"Hm." Zenigata slowly brings one hand up to Lupin's skinny wrist. He can feel his pulse rabbiting away beneath the surface, despite how calm he looks. That, more than anything, convinces him. He meets Lupin's eyes.

"Of course not."

"Huh?"

The handcuffs click loudly, and Zenigata has the satisfaction of seeing Lupin dumbfounded for the first time that evening. He sits back, blinking at his shackled wrists. Zenigata laughs uproariously. "I've got you! I did it!"

Lupin begins to smile, and then to laugh. Then he leans down and kisses Zenigata again, deeply, at the same time bringing their hips into alignment and dragging his cock deliberately against his through his pants. Having been neglected thus far, it sends a jolt travelling up Zenigata's body. A groan escapes his mouth into Lupin's. He feels Lupin smile, and then in one devastating motion he slides down the length of Zenigata's body and kneels on the floor between his legs, his hands—still in the cuffs—flattening against Zenigata's chest. Meeting his eyes, Lupin mouths at his cock, his tongue dampening the fabric of his pants. Zenigata's breath hitches.

"Yes, Inspector?" Lupin says. "Can I assist you with something?"

"P—" The word "please" is nearly out of his mouth before he catches himself.

Nonchalant, Lupin brings his hands down to undo Zenigata's pants, rattling the handcuffs as he does. The sight of him there—and the memory of earlier, when he said "Do you know how often I've thought about this?"—makes Zenigata's head spin. "Lupin—"

"That's me." Lupin slides his hands deftly under his ass to pull down his pants and briefs in one go, releasing his flushed and leaking cock. Zenigata is mesmerized. Lupin sees it—of course he sees it—and chuckles. He leans forward so that his bound hands are at Zenigata's chest again, his elbows on his stomach, his face inches from his cock, and gives a sweet little tilt of the head that Zenigata wishes didn't work on him. "What can I do for you, Inspector?"

"Oh, for—!"

They stare at each other. It seems that Lupin is really going to make him say it. The knowledge sends a fresh shudder through him, and another trickle of pre-come oozes from his tip. Lupin is immobile as a statue.

Then he huffs out a soft laugh. "You're adorable," he tells Zenigata, and then he wraps his lips around his cock.

"Fuck." Zenigata's head thumps back against the mattress. Of course Lupin is talented with his mouth, of course. And Zenigata has thought about this too, as recently as the night he lost Lupin in the string of gay bars. How there were men who looked like him who Zenigata might take home with him, how that would be beside the point.

He thinks for a moment of Gabriel Viceroy, currently dangling upside down outside the window, and huffs out a quiet laugh. Lupin smooths a hand over his ribs, acknowledging, then finds a nipple and gives it a sharp tweak. " _Ah."_ He looks down and meets Lupin's eyes. They are, unsurprisingly, demanding attention. He pulls off with a wet sound Zenigata will be hearing in his mind at unprofessional moments for _years_ , and licks a long stripe up the underside of his cock, pressing at a sensitive place just below the head that he has already found somehow and grinning when it makes Zenigata hiss. "I knew you were hiding a pretty cock in there. They don't give men eyelashes like that for nothing." He closes his eyes and rubs his cheek and nose over said cock, giving a pleased hum, then opens them again lazily and sighs. "Just look at you."

 _Look at you_ , Zenigata thinks, but the words are lost when Lupin dips down onto his cock again, hollowing his cheeks. Zenigata reaches a hand down to bury in his hair, feeling the bobbing motion, the intentness. He doesn't intend to apply any force but at a particularly luxurious swirl of Lupin's tongue his fingers clench and Lupin groans and he feels the vibrations all through his body, and his hips jerk up, and Lupin digs his elbows into them, holding him down, and his head is empty of everything but sensation.

" _Fuck,"_ he says again.

"That's it, darling," says Lupin, pulling off. He brings his hands down to wrap one around Zenigata's cock, and it's an awkward angle with the cuffs but Zenigata can't think of anything except how wet he is from Lupin's mouth anyway. He arches off the bed, thighs straining.

"Arsène," he gasps.

The response is a strangled sound unlike any he has heard thus far. It is certainly not voluntary. There's something important there, but before he can piece it together Lupin's mouth is on him again, demanding, hands splayed on his stomach, and a few moments later he is blinded by his orgasm.

The ceiling has barely come back into focus when Lupin hauls him upright and climbs into his lap, handcuffed wrists looped around the back of his neck. He kisses Zenigata open-mouthed and sloppy, grinds down on his softening cock, pants into his mouth. He is shaking, straining like an over taut bow string. One hand supporting the small of his back, Zenigata works his other one between them and tugs on Lupin's zipper, growling in remonstration as he receives exactly no help. When he has Lupin's cock free and wraps his hand around the length of him Lupin arches back, putting all his weight on Zenigata's arm, and lets out a stream of high, whining, desperate French that even Zenigata can tell is nonsense. After a couple of rough tugs he shudders and comes.

They are both breathing hard. Their position is absurd, precarious, but that's about what Zenigata feels he should have expected.

"Lupin," he begins.

"Wow!" says Lupin. "I think this has been our most memorable case yet, huh, Pops?" He springs from his lap and begins doing himself up.

"If you think I'm letting you get away after that, you're wrong."

"Oh?" Tucking his shirt back in, he looks pointedly at Zenigata's lap. Of _course_ Zenigata knows his cock is still out, that won't stop him from—

The handcuffs are on him now.

"Lupin!"

He lunges, but Lupin dances out of the way and he winds up tangled on the floor. Lupin pauses at the window just long enough to slip the opal necklace from his jacket pocket and dangle it on one finger, winking at Zenigata's outrage. "If you really want to surprise me, learn some French for next time," he says, and then he's gone.

The publicity from busting the local insurance fraud ring is poor consolation.

When Zenigata finds himself chasing Lupin down a Paris street, several months later, he barks out a sentence in French to some local policemen who are just _standing there_ as the thief bounds past them. Lupin turns with a delighted whoop as he reaches the wall at the bank of the river. "Pretty good, Pops!" he calls, in Japanese. "Now tell me I'm a naughty boy!"

Zenigata is caught by the splash as he dives and disappears. The French policemen assume that his cursing and spluttering are for the ruined clothes.

**Author's Note:**

> ...And just picture: they were both wearing tuxedos the whole time. You're welcome.
> 
> This is the first piece of fiction I've written in years and I had a delightful time with it, so I hope you do too.
> 
> Edit: thank you to @kessen_kun on Twitter for help with the French :)


End file.
